Mario's Epic Quest for Profits
by Mr. Lefty
Summary: After one thankless chore too many, Mario comes up with a plan to get rich quick by charging people for their tasks. Unfortunately, everything that could possibly go wrong does. Complete!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: You don't actually think I own any of the characters, do you?

Mario's Epic Quest for Profits

Chapter One

It was a bright, cheerful day in bustling Diamond City. Joggers were jogging, taxis were taxiing, and vendors were vending. And when people crashed into each other on the sidewalk, their colorful assortment of obscenities was always followed by "have a nice day."

Farther from the busy urban streets, in a quieter and less crowded suburban area, an ornate mansion stood prominently on a hilltop. This was none other than the Smash Estate, the residence for only the biggest Nintendo stars competing in only the biggest fighting tournament ever to hit Diamond City. At least, it used to be, but now it housed some lesser-known stars competing in said tournament, along with other non-fighters who helped with other things.

The man who was quite possibly the biggest of the big stars was none other than Mario Mario, a slightly pudgy Italian man who liked the color red. This particular morning, Mario had awoken bright and early to go to breakfast at his favorite pasta joint -- The Wet Noodle. The blurb below the title claimed it was home to the world-famous "Suspiciously Crimson-Colored Red Sauce."

On his way to go consume massive quantities of "comida Italiana," as it were, a young boy who looked as if he needed help accosted Mario. "Oh, pretty please, Mr. Mario," the boy pleaded. "Please rescue Mr. Ickle Fluffykins from the mean old tree! He's very delicate!"

Mario sighed. It seemed he couldn't go anywhere without some inane whiner asking him to do some equally inane favor. But, he was _the_ famous Mario, and not helping someone in need would be bad for his image.

So, Mario, trying not to retch from the annoying kid's cutesy baby talk, grabbed onto the tree and climbed. He caught a glimpse of a furry white ball on one of the branches. _There it is_, he thought. As Mario inched his way along the branch, which he now realized was thinner than he thought at first, he noticed the cat was simply bathing itself contentedly, nothing like the yowling, hissing mass of claws he had first expected.

"Hey, kid!" Mario shouted down. "Your cat looks fine up here. I really don't think…"

Mario immediately regretted even speaking to the kid, who said: "Oh, no no no no _no_! A bad old tree is no place for a big fuzzy-wuzzy fuzzball! Mr. Ickle Fluffykins is oh so much happy-wappier in his warm and cozy housie-wousie in his beddy-bye basket. He likes it ever so much better than a mean, bad, grumpy-wumpy old tree."

Mario now had the beginnings of what seemed to be a migraine. The least he could hope for was that the cat clawed the stupid kid's eyes out. Or, even better, his vocal chords.

The branch was now starting to bend slightly under Mario's weight. He hoped the branch didn't give way unless it landed on the kid's head. Mario was now only about a foot from the cat, which didn't seem to notice him. _C'mere kitty,_ Mario thought, _just a few more…there_! Mario had grabbed the furry feline. To commemorate this achievement, he also stood fully upright and held the cat above his head triumphantly. Not a good idea. The cat, being the cat it was, went berserk, flailing and trashing about in Mario's grip. Mario instinctively let go of it. Also not a good idea. The cat landed on Mario's head, still clawing, hissing, and spitting. Mario started moving and screaming frantically, trying to get the cat off his head.

Meanwhile, below the scene of the melee, the kid was watching Mario and Mr. Ickle Fluffykins with wide eyes. "Be ever so gentle with Mr. Ickle Fluffykins! You don't want to give him a boo-boo!"

_I'll give you a boo-boo_, Mario thought angrily. While the plumber's mind was filled with images of what would be the most painful and gruesome way to dispatch this kid, he didn't notice the slight cracking noise. He also didn't notice the louder cracking noise. In fact, he didn't notice it at all until the entire branch snapped and he and the cat plummeted to the ground.

Mario landed smack on his butt right on a nearby bench. Not on the part for sitting, either. "MAMMA MIA!" As Mario howled in agony, the cat leaped off his head, and made a beeline for the kid.

"Mr. Ickle Fluffykins!" the kid shouted jubilantly. "I'm so glad you're safe!"

Through the extreme agony, Mario was half-hoping that the cat would scratch the kid's eyes out, but, alas, it was not to be. The cat was purring and licking the kid's face, and the kid was giggling.

As the kid walked away, Mario slowly eased himself up off the bench, trying to ignore the fact that doing number two would probably be out of the question for some days. However, the thought of warm, saucy, buttery pasta at his favorite restaurant cheered him up some.

But when Mario arrived at The Wet Noodle near the intersection of Goomba Street and Octorok Avenue, he saw something that would forever haunt his memory.

CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS

Mario's heart rate quickened and his eyes widened. He fell to his knees and let out a scream of "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He hit his forehead against the front door, blubbering "Why? Why?" And, as is the case in any dramatic situation, it started to rain. Mario peered through watery eyes into the restaurant. The "renovations" seemed to involve a lot of "POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS" tape and waiters being tied to chairs. _I knew their sauce was too suspiciously crimson-colored_, thought Mario bitterly.

Mario, his spirit and heart broken, miserably trudged back to the mansion. When he got there, he opened the doors to a happy scene of people gorging themselves on pancakes and other breakfast foodstuffs while chatting happily with their neighbor. Peach was happily cooking up more breakfast foodstuffs, contributing to the extraordinary caloric intake of the Smashers. Lakitu, a cloud-riding turtle who helped with the cinematography, was shuttling plates of food to hungry entities.

Mario sat down next to his brother Luigi, who was talking with Bowser. At least he was attempting to talk; the conversation was rather one-sided with Luigi doing the talking and Bowser doing the stuffing of face with food.

"Morning, Mario!" Luigi said. "Thank goodness you're here. I've had to sit here next to this glutton all morning. Do you have any idea the sounds that…why are you all wet and scratched up?"

"Well," said Mario, not looking up from the table, "let's just say that The Wet Noodle is closed and I got mauled by a cat trying to rescue it."

"Really? Darn, that was a good restaurant. Wait a minute, why did you say, 'let's just say'?"

"What?"

"You said, 'let's just say that The Wet Noodle is closed and that I got mauled by a cat trying to rescue it.' Why did you add the 'let's just say'? I mean, it would have made sense to say, 'let's just say we won't be eating good Italian food anymore and I won't be petting any cats anytime soon,' but with what you said, the 'let's just say' was really kind of--"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER!" Mario shouted. "I'm sick of doing thankless work! This has got to change!"

"Well, you could always charge people for favors."

"Luigi, that has got to be the crappiest idea in the entire history of crappy ideas. You should be ashamed of yourself for disgracing the earth with the crap machine that is your brain. I need a good, intelligent idea, an idea like…charging people for favors!"

"Charging people for…that's exactly what I said!"

"Luigi, Luigi, Luigi," Mario said condescendingly, "taking credit for other people's ideas, though tempting, is no way to go through life. You should be more like me, and come up with new and original ideas all on your own. You'll be a better person for it."

"Thank you, Dr. Phil," muttered Luigi.

"Now, how much should I charge…let's see…" Mario mused.

"Five bucks seems reasonable," said Luigi.

"Luigi, please! You're tainting my pristine brain with your constant output of garbage. How about something like five bucks?"

"Rrrgh…" growled Luigi.

"Now, the last thing I need to do is think of how I'm going to set up my business. Let's see…I could rent a beautiful old building and everyone would flock to my excellent location…"

"Or you could set up a crappy little stand by the side of the road."

"Alright, Luigi, that's it! I've had it up to here with your inane suggestions. Go poison someone else's mind. A crappy little stand by the side of the road would be a much better idea than your pathetic excuse for one. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a business to set up." And with that, Mario walked out of the room in a considerably better mood.

Just then, Marth, Link, Zelda, Ganondorf, and Shy Guy, the makeup and costume artist, came bursting through the main doors, soaking wet.

"Hey, what's up, you guys?" Peach asked. "I thought you were at the beach."

"We were," Marth responded. "But then it started raining."

"It completely ruined the day at the beach!" Ganondorf shouted.

"Normally, Ganon, I'd agree with you," said Link, "but I've lost all sense of emotion ever since that fat lady's bathing suit ripped. Shudder..."

"Odd," said Ness, "there was like, a zero percent chance of rain today."

"Well, we think that someone must have suddenly become very sad and dramatic. And I intend to find out who!" Marth said with a murderous glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, uh, good luck with that. Well, I'm gonna go, uh, sell some favors, so, see ya!" said Mario, bolting out the door into the downpour.

Everyone looked after him with a strange look.

"Mario's selling favors? You mean like favors, as in errands, or favors, as in--"

"I think he means errands."

"Oh. Good."

To Be Continued…

Well, that's that. Come back next chapter for some silly Mario antics and (hopefully) funnier jokes. Please read and review!

But first, a trivia question. If you put the answer in your review and get it right, I'll congratulate you in the next chapter. Here it is: What video game takes place in Diamond City? In case you weren't paying attention, this story also takes place there.

Don't forget to review! All flames will be laughed at.


	2. Chapter 2

Mario's Epic Quest for Profits

Chapter 2

After a brief sadness-caused downpour, Mr. Sun was again shining over Diamond City. Mario, who had been attempting to take refuge under an umbrella smaller than the ones in Wile E. Coyote cartoons, now made his way over to the side of a busy street in the heart of town. He then set down a decrepit old crate on the sidewalk. With the hasty scribbling of the words 'Errands - $5' on a greeting card with puppies on it, Mario's business was now open for…um…business.

The plumber-gone-entrepreneur sat down on the cement and reclined against the brick wall of a building. It wouldn't be long before some co-dependent whiner paid him to pre-chew their food. Mario had once done that for free, but only because that lasagna had looked so good.

Trying to dismiss a few unpleasant images, Mario now wondered why no one was stopping to so much as glance at his pleasantly wood-rotted business stand. People were always asking him for favors when he didn't want them to; why couldn't they do it when he did?

Mario sighed inwardly. _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all,_ he thought miserably. He rested his chin on his hands. The sky started to cloud over yet again. But before Mario could ruin anyone else's day at the beach, a man in a tweed suit and bowler hat came up to him.

"Hi, there! I see you're selling favors," the man said.

"You bet! Only five bucks!" Mario's spirits were beginning to lift again.

"Good! Well, I have a favor for you. I want you…to sleep with my wife."

"What? Why?"

"Because she's mean and ugly and horny. And that's a bad combination."

"Then no, I won't do it."

"Come on! She's…um, really hot."

Mario was starting to get a headache. "You just said she was mean and ugly!"

"I…um…lied."

The plumber wasn't convinced. "That's a picture of her, isn't it?" He pointed to a photograph of an extremely ugly and wrinkly woman hanging out of the man's pocket.

"Gasp! How'd you…I mean, no! That's my, uh…sister…"

"Get lost!"

"Oh, poo."

After the psycho had left, Mario cursed his luck. Out of all the people in this city, he had to get the weirdo.

Mario didn't have much time to dwell on this, however, as another man was briskly walking toward him.

"Howdy! You do favors?"

"Yup! Five greenbacks!"

"Oh, goody. Uh…so, the favors you do. Do they include being a hit man?"

"…No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"Pretty please with a cherry and sugar and pecans and syrup and a marshmallow on top?"

After rolling his eyes at the extremely masculine sentence he had just heard, Mario told this psycho to hit the road.

"Oh, fiddlesticks."

Mario decided he needed time to think, so he turned his greeting card around. His stand was now closed. Were there nothing but lunatics around here? It would figure that on the day he could actually profit from doing things, no one needed anything done. And to irritate him further, another man was now walking up to him. Was he stupid? The decrepit box was closed for business.

"Hi! I see your decrepit box is now blank Hallmark greeting card one dollar and fifty cents."

Before Mario could think too much about how much sense that didn't make, he realized he had forgotten to write "CLOSED" on the back of the card. He quickly did so before the man could request something sick or illegal.

"You're closed? Oh, popcorn."

Mario was now quite irritated. Would the stream of weird people with weird favors and weird expletives never end? He wagered that the rest of them were probably over in that mass of people crowding around something. _Hey, wait…what _is _everybody doing over there_? Fearing he would miss a street performer, or at least a particularly graphic public display of affection, Mario ran across the street and elbowed his way through the swarm.

But when he reached the center, he immediately regretted it. For, at the epicenter, was something so horrible, so evil, it was like finding a piece of poo in the middle of a chocolate truffle.

"Well, well, look what we have here. _Let's just say_ that I decided to put _my _idea into action!"

In the center of the congregation was none other than Luigi. He was seated at a wooden crate, which was painted green and had less wood-rot than Mario's. Behind him was a cardboard box filled with something Mario couldn't see. But the worst part was, there were people crowding around and actually _throwing_ their money at Luigi.

Luigi shoved his way through the crowd, which was almost as civilized as Overeaters Anonymous at All You Can Eat night. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, people, settle down. Hang on, I'll get you next. Yes, I know you were here first…ugh! Whew!"

As soon as Luigi had managed to distance himself at least two inches from the rest of the people (by use of several fireballs), he haughtily walked toward Mario, smirking.

"Mario, Mario, Mario. Isn't this a surprise? How's business going for you?"

Mario sensed Luigi already knew the answer, so he lied. "Good. In fact, I think I have to be going. Wouldn't want to keep the news cameras waiting." Before he could make a hasty escape, Luigi grabbed him by the arm.

"That's your stand over there, isn't it?" he said, pointing across the street to the crate, which promptly crumbled into dust.

Mario hung his head. "Yeah…"

"Ooh, too bad. But just think of this as a victory for justice. The man who got his idea stolen won out in the end."

Mario looked back at Luigi's place of business. Mario's crate didn't look much different from Luigi's. At least not before it crumbled. So what was driving the business? Mario decided to ask.

"Hey, Luigi?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

"What exactly is selling your favors? It's not like your place is any fancier than mine."

"Ah, Mario, how naïve of you. You see, if we simply had competing businesses selling things at the exact same prices, it would come down to a matter of which of us the customers preferred. And we all know who would win that, don't we?" Luigi stopped to shoot a dirty look at Mario, then continued: "See, I give people an incentive to choose the nice, handsome, neglected brother over the pompous, swelled-headed, egotistical, pot-bellied, Goomba-abusing--"

"Get on with it!"

"Uh, ahem. Anyway, what I'm doing is handing out free t-shirts with every purchase. Wanna see?" He reached into the cardboard box and pulled out a white t-shirt with a picture of Mario's head drawn in black marker. There was also a caption below the head which read "I Pooed Myself."

"You're making hundreds of dollars giving _these_ away? And did you trace that picture from the Super Mario Bros. manual or what?"

"Maybe…but wait! There's more!" He pulled out several more shirts, each with the same picture as the first, but with different captions. Among them were "I Need to Eat More Fiber," "Church is the Cool Place to be," "I Eat Babies," and "I Cheated on Peach with Zelda."

"Ha ha! Pretty insulting, eh?" Luigi cackled evilly.

"Those aren't insulting, they're stupid! Not to mention they contradict each other. If I pooed myself, then why do I need to eat more fiber?"

"Well, see…"

"And everyone knows that Zelda's way outta my league."

"Okay, Mr. Critic, buy something before my orderly line turns into fisticuffs."

Since the line was anything but orderly before, Mario thought he would hate to see Luigi's definition of fisticuffs. "Okay," he said, "I'll take one of those 'I Cheated on Peach with Zelda' shirts."

"Ten bucks."

"Deal!"

_Hee hee, this shirt's so cool,_ Mario thought to himself as he walked back to his pile of dust. _Oh, wait. Dangit, I haven't made a cent, and Luigi's getting rich off _my _brilliant idea_!

Mario sat back against the wall, despondently wondering how he was ever going to compete with his brother. It took Mario a few seconds to realize that the "wall" he was reclining against was in fact a man.

"Oh, excuse me, homeless vagrant. I didn't notice you."

The "homeless vagrant" was like no one Mario had ever seen. The stranger was wearing a blue parka, and he had a handlebar mustache, a style that Mario would never even consider.

"Whoa! Popo, have you grown facial hair?"

"I am no Popo," the man said. "I am a man whose help you need desperately."

"What? How do you know that I need help? Who are you, anyway?"

"I am known by many names," the parka guy said in the cryptic fashion of an important person. "I have been called the Eskimo Entrepreneur, the Snowy Salesman, That Creepy Guy in the Parka, and Mithrandir."

"Really?"

"Well, all except for that last one. But most call me…the Sage of Business."

_Sage of Business_…Mario racked his brains for where he could have heard something like that before, and then it hit him.

"Are you related to those Seven Sages from Hyrule?" Mario asked.

"Ah, very perceptive, you are," the Sage said. Mario could just imagine the fit of giggles Luigi would be in if he had heard that. "But no," the Sage continued, "I am not part of the Seven Sages. If I were, it would be the Eight Sages, and that's much less alliterative. Plus, the Sage of Sages doesn't like me very much."

"Why not?" Mario couldn't think of anyone that Zelda didn't like, with the possible exception of Ganondorf.

"Well, let's just say I defrauded her out of a thousand Rupees when I told her what I was selling was an antique piece of jewelry from the early days of Hyrule, when in fact it was just an antique prawn."

Suppressing the gag reflex, Mario managed to ask: "So can you help me?"

"Oh, yes. I was once in this predicament in my younger days. I shall impart everything I know about business, entrepreneurism, and salesmanship to you. Who knows? You could be my heir."

"Your…heir?" said Mario dreamily. He imagined himself in a tweed suit and a bow tie, handing out pamphlets. "Oh man, I'd be such a chick magnet."

"Yes, well…here is your first task…"

_At the mansion…_

"Moan…whine…rrrghhh…"

Bowser was lying in a leather Barkalounger making hideous whining noises. Not to mention irritating the rest of the Smashers and severely damaging the fabric with his spikes.

Marth, who was sitting across the room, put down his book called A Long-Winded and Extremely Detailed History of Everything (Complete with Quotes from God or At Least Crazy Religious Fanatics Who Think They Are).

"Bowser, would you please stop groaning? You sound and look like a dying cow. And you smell like one, too."

"Well," the Koopa King said, "it's just that I'm bored. See, I was supposed to have a practice match with the Mario Bros. today, but they're not here."

"I'll tell you where they are if you stop whining."

"Deal!"

"Well, I believe that they went out to sell favors."

"Favors? You mean like…"

"No, the other kind. Anyway, I think they're now business rivals and Luigi's winning. That's all I know."

"Hmm," Bowser said. "Plumbers, golfers, princess-rescuers, kart drivers, plus royal pains-in-the-ass, and now entrepreneurs. How do they do it?"

Marth made a noncommittal noise from behind his book.

"Of course, there's no way they could stand up to my friend Wario," Bowser continued. "Now there's a businessman. That guy could kick their puny Italian butts into _mezzogiorno._"

"Midday?"

"I meant next week. All Italian words are made up of _il, dello, mezzo, giorno, _and _pesci_."

Marth rolled his eyes.

"As I was saying, the Mario Bros. would be no match for Mr. Wario, let me tell you. He'd crush 'em. Yep. Crush 'em…"

"Mazletov," said Marth absently.

"'Scuse me, I've got a phone call to make."

Marth gave Bowser a thumbs-up from behind his book.

Bowser walked into the next room and dialed a number on the telephone.

"Yes?" a voice growled on the other side of the line.

"Buon giorno! Il giorno é dello pesci!" said Bowser.

"What?"

"Wario, it's Bowser. I thought you knew Italian!"

"I do," said Wario. "You just said the day was made of fish. But, you know, Bowser, I'm not Italian. In fact, I don't know what nationality I am. Some have said I'm Polish as well."

"Oh, really? Then…uh…wladislaw kosciuszko czy ni polski grabowski!"

"Look, Bowser, I'd love to discuss gibberish with you, but I'm a very busy man. Now what do you want?" said Wario angrily.

"Well, do you know Mario and Luigi?" asked Bowser.

Wario sighed. "Do you mean to say that after seven of Mario's stupid parties, not to mention numerous stupid-ass sporting events, you think that I don't know them better than I'd like?"

"Oh, good, you've met them. Well, I've got a favor for you. I need you to knock them down a peg or two."

"What am I, your personal hit man? Don't think so, Bowser. It would be bad for my image as an honest businessman."

"Oh, no, you don't have to kill them," the King Koopa said. "See, they think they're hot stuff because they're out selling favors. So--"

"Wait a minute," interrupted Wario. "You mean favors, like--"

"No, the other kind. Anyway, what I want you to do is show them that they're not so cool after all. You know, lower their self-confidence a few notches. That way, they'll come back and I can torment them. What do you say?"

"Look, Bowser, I--"

"I'll even give you a pair of those fuzzy socks with the kittens on them that you like…."

"Don't mention that over the phone, Bowser! The line could be tapped!"

"Yeah, sure. So will you do it?"

"Fine. Just don't mention the, uh, uzzy-fay ocks-say, if you know what I mean."

"You mean the--"

"Goodbye, Bowser." Wario hung up the phone.

"Mweheheheheheh," laughed Bowser maniacally. "Hahahahaha--ack! I'm choking…somebody help me…gack!"

"He always does that," Yoshi whispered to Marth back in the living room.

* * *

Now, here's the answer to the question: the answer is WarioWare Inc.!

Congratulations to luigifan2234 and the pen pals for getting it right. And don't worry, I didn't forget about you, Xiao-Darkcloud or paperpenguin, even though you didn't get it right.

If you haven't played the WarioWare games, you really should. They're fun, especially if you have a short attention span.

Okay, so...yeah. That's it for this chapter. Review!


	3. Chapter 3

_**Mario's Epic Quest for Profits**_

Chapter 3

Wario waddled down the long staircase of the WarioWare building, wheezing and gasping for breath. His doctor said that taking the stairs was a good way to lose weight, and it was also heart-healthy. Of course, that was the same doctor who had told him that eating live sharks would improve his eyesight.

But health was the last thing on Wario's mind. When he had received that fateful phone call from Bowser, he had immediately bolted for the stairs, then remembered to turn off his pay-per-view, um, "program," then bolted for the stairs again.

Nothing excited Wario like a chance to prove he was better than Mario. Well, that, and pay-per-view "programs." The only thing at which Wario had ever beaten Mario was salesmanship. Back in elementary school, Mario and Wario had set up lemonade stands across the street from each other. Wario made twenty dollars that day, while Mario only made five cents. Those five cents were from his parents in order to keep him from getting upset to the point of soiling himself. And Mario and Wario have been rivals ever since.

But on the way there, Wario fell down the stairs and broke an arm, because the author realized that Wario was featured for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

"Unngh…I can't do it…"

"Believe in yourself, stick insect."

"Could you call me a katydid instead? It sounds cooler."

"Shut up. I'll call you whatever insect I want."

"Gaak…okay, done."

"Good."

Mario lay on the sidewalk, writhing and groaning. Over him stood a fat man in a blue parka with a handlebar mustache.

"Very good," said the parka man, who called himself the Sage of Business. "Few have ever passed that test."

"I can see why," said Mario. "What exactly does eating 53 buttered popcorn-flavored jellybeans have to do with entrepreneurship?"

"You will see in good time, locust," replied the Sage.

"Locust? Can't I be something less pestilent?" whined Mario.

"Shut up. So, are you ready to start doing favors?"

"Yep."

"Okay, good. Here comes a potential customer now. Go get 'em, aphid!"

Mario, wondering why the SOB (in more than one way) couldn't call him "grasshopper" like a normal sensei, trotted over to his stand/pile of firewood and smiled at his potential source of income.

"Hello, sir. How may I assist you?" asked the plumber.

"What…me? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I've got a little job for you. You see, I, uh…." The man trailed off.

"Yes?" asked Mario.

"Huh?" the man said dumbly.

"Go on."

"Oh. Yeah. Um…so anyway, have you ever met Hugh Hefner? About yay high, gray hair, owns a house full of nude women…that Hugh Hefner? You met him?" asked the man.

"No…" Mario responded, rather puzzled.

"Yeah, you should. Nice guy. Yeah." The weirdo stood, tapping his foot nonchalantly, while Mario wore an expression that would have weirded out Jack Nicholson.

"And…exactly what does this have to do with me doing you a favor?" asked Mario.

"Huh? I wasn't talking about favors! Gosh! Pay more attention, willya?"

Mario looked about ready to cry.

"No, I've got a favor for you. I seem to have lost my beloved beanie," said the weird man, the likes of whom seemed to be ubiquitous this morning.

"Your beanie? As in hat?" inquired Mario incredulously.

"Yes, as in hat. I left it somewhere, but I just can't remember where."

"Well, that's what I'm here for," said Mario, glad to be having some semblance of a normal conversation now. "When did you lose said goofy hat?"

"Oh, sometime this morning. I remember putting it on when I left my apartment, but when I left the grocery store, it was gone."

"Well, all we have to do is visit all the places you went this morning, and we should find it."

"Goody! Oh, by the way, I like your shirt."

The man, who said his name was Melvin, said that his first stop was the dry cleaner's. The dry cleaner's was on the bottom floor of a dilapidated old building. The sign in front read "B. Scumber's Dry Cleaning. We clean your clothes almost for free because we care about the customer, not because we sell the stuff people leave in their pockets!"

Once inside, Mario nearly toppled over from the smell. The discolored carpet reeked of a combination of cigarette smoke and old trout. The walls smelled like something unmentionable, and looked like it, too. Behind the yellowed counter stood a fat man in an undershirt, scratching himself in odd places. He had a barbecue stain (at least Mario hoped it was) on his shirt, and he smelled as if he hadn't showered in several millennia.

"Um, hi," said Mario nervously to the disgusting man.

The man looked up from scratching himself. "Uh?"

"Yeah, hi. You may not know me, Mr…?"

"Barney," the man said, and promptly belched loudly.

"Yeah, okay," Mario said, fanning the air around him. "You may not know me, but Melvin here says he might have left a beanie here. Would you happen to have seen one?"

"Beanie…" Barney said dumbly. "You mean like a…hat?"

"Yeah, with the propeller," said Mario.

"Well, I dunno. Have I seen a beanie?" asked Barney, attempting to sneakily hold out his hand, but instead fell over.

"Wait…you want me to bribe you? That's ridic…"

Mario broke off when Melvin started weeping. "You don't care about my hat, do you? It could be out there, all alone, in the cold, with nothing to eat but rats, and you're not even willing to pay a cent! You were my hero, Mario, but now…you're…" He broke off, sobbing noisily into a customer's newly cleaned shirt.

Mario, resisting the urge to punch Melvin somewhere inappropriate, said, "Fine. Here's a twenty. Melvin, stop anthropomorphizing your hat."

Melvin looked up, wiped his eyes, and left a rather unpleasant stain on the poor customer's shirt. "I love you, Mario."

"Shut up."

Barney inspected the money carefully, then turned to Mario. "Hmm…I might have seen a beanie…" He again tried to hold out his hand, but instead slipped and hit his head on the cash register.

Melvin turned to Mario with tearful eyes. "Pleeeeeeease?"

The hapless plumber again reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Barney took it, looked it over, then said, "Nope. Haven't seen a hat."

Mario ground another few millimeters off his teeth.

"So, Melvin," said Mario, holding back an outburst of rage which would have been quite inconvenient, "where did you go next?"

"Grocery store," said Melvin.

"Good, we can go there now."

The grocery store was a small place, with lots of foodstuffs crowding the shelves. It was family-owned (by Mr. and Mrs. Mafiaboss) and they regularly had money-saving specials on items such as ketchup, pasta sauce, tomato juice, and red paint.

Once in the store, Mario asked Melvin where he thought his hat could be. He would have answered, except he was too busy being mesmerized by a can of fruit cocktail.

"Melvin…?"

"Shiny…"

"Shut up. Now, look at me. Melvin!"

"Yes," he said, spraying Mario with saliva.

"Where do you think your hat would be?"

"Hmm…I dunno."

"Any idea at all?"

"Nope."

"Not even a little idea?"

"Nope."

"Are you sure?"

"Nope."

Mario would have taken Melvin's head and cracked it rather violently against a shelf had he not spied something.

"Melvin, look! Over there!" shouted Mario.

"Over where?" the idiot asked.

"I think I see your hat over there by the condoms!"

"What?"

"_I think I see your hat by the condoms!_" Mario yelled louder.

"By the what?"

"CONDOMS!" Mario screamed, red in the face. Everyone in the store turned to look at him.

"Hmm..." Melvin mused. "Nope, that's not it."

"AARRGH!" Mario screamed. "That's it! I've had it up to here with your stupididdly…stupiddi..stupidittiddity…dumbness! I'm leaving, and never doing another favor for you again!"

"Mario, wait!" Melvin yelled after him, a la some cheesy romance movie. "Don't go! I love you! I'm carrying your child!"

But Mario continued to stalk off into the distance.

"Darn, that one always gets them," grumbled Melvin, running after Mario.

When he finally caught up to Mario, the plumber turned around, glaring. "I thought I told you to leave," he said.

"Mario, come on," the pathetic man pleaded. "There's only one more place I went this morning. Please! I'll do anything you want."

"Absolutely not…wait, anything?" Mario asked, a glint forming in his eyes.

"…Yeah…"

"Will you give me ten dollars?" said Mario.

"Alright."

"Okay, we're good then," said Mario. "So, where was your last stop?"

As soon as Melvin said it, Mario regretted taking him back. But Mario had promised to get the job done, and Melvin had given him ten dollars. So, with no shortage of trepidation, Mario slowly walked into the building labeled "Adult Video Store."

The store consisted of a small, dingy room, with several shelves piled high with pornography. A rather bored clerk was taking a nap at the rental counter.

"Alright, let's find your hat and get out of here," said Mario, growing increasingly uncomfortable with his surroundings, even though the only other person in there was either asleep or stupid.

Melvin said, "Don't rush me, this takes time." Mario suspected Melvin just wanted to browse some more. This didn't surprise Mario, as he didn't think Melvin had much of a sex life. The man probably still lived with his mother. However, Mario did wish that Melvin would hurry up, as Mario was becoming increasingly paranoid.

"Are you done yet?" asked Mario quietly. Melvin's lack of response and presence of drool indicated a "no" to Mario. Feeling more awkward by the second, Mario nonchalantly strolled around the aisles, trying not to notice the sometimes disgusting pictures on the front of the videos.

"Hey, Mario?"

After recovering from the initial heart attack, Mario turned around to see Melvin.

"Oh, it's just you," Mario said, sweating profusely. "Found your hat yet?"

"Nope, but I did find these," he said, holding out several revolting videos.

"Great. Look, Melvin, I don't think your hat's here. You must've lost it for good."

"Yeah," said Melvin sadly, "let's leave."

As they walked out of the store and into the street, Melvin noticed that it was colder and windier than when they arrived. "Hey, Mario, mind holding these?" Melvin said, giving Mario the videotapes. "I need to get my hat out of my pocket."

"Oh, sure, no prob…WHAT?" Mario screamed. He looked over to see Melvin putting on a ridiculously-colored beanie. "Is THAT the hat that I spent all morning looking for?"

"What, this? Oh, yeah, I guess it was in my pocket the whole time."

Mario was literally shaking with anger. He couldn't believe he had actually wanted to help this guy.

"Oh, look," said Melvin, "a taxi. Well, I'd better get going."

This was wise of Melvin, as Mario would have likely done something to Melvin that involved breaking bones and/or tearing of flesh had he stayed. So, Mario despondently trudged home, making it rain again.

When he arrived at the mansion, he was greeted by Peach, cheery as usual.

"Hi, Mario! How'd the business go?"

"Feh," Mario grumbled.

"Not too good, huh? Well…what does your shirt say?"

She took a closer look at Mario's t-shirt.

"I cheated on Peach with Zelda? Mario, what's the meaning of this?"

Mario giggled nervously. "I…um…"

"And what's in your pocket? Give it here," she said, taking the videotapes which, unfortunately, Mario had forgotten to give back to Melvin. "…Mario, this is disgusting! _Big Fat Mommas 3_? _Foxy Grandmas_? _Tubgirl: The Movie_?"

"…I can explain! Really!" Mario said desperately.

"I don't want to hear your explanation, you sick bastard!" And Peach stalked out of the room.

Just then, Luigi walked in, holding some sort of jar. "Hey, Mario, what's up? Never mind, check this out!" He held up the jar, which bore the words "Grammar is not your Grandma" in black marker. "I believe you're familiar with the concept of a swear jar, correct? Well, this is kinda like that, except it's a grammar jar."

"A grammar jar?"

"Yeah. Every time someone uses bad grammar, they have to put five bucks in the grammar jar. So, you owe me five dollars for your horrible 'let's just say' error from this morning."

Fuming, Mario reached into his pocket and grabbed the only five dollars he had made.

"I'll take that," said Luigi. "So, how'd the business go?"

"Well, I'm now pessimistic, misanthropic, and disillusioned in general."

"Oh. That sucks."

"But, now that I've experienced business, I never want to try it again."

"You could've sold things besides favors, you know," said Luigi.

"Pfft. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I should've sold something besides favors."

"RRRRGH!"

* * *

Well, that's that. Regardless of how bad that story sucked, I would greatly appreciate a review or two. Remember, kiddies, if at first you don't succeed, then don't bother. 


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